A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (8 page)

The truth was, for some reason which he could not fathom, because, in all fairness, she had done nothing in particular to irk him, he knew that he did not like Will’s wife. She was not what he had expected. Will was such a pleasant fellow, kind, humorous, generous and his spouse seemed anything but, in fact rather the opposite. There was a grim determination in her eyes, a bitterness about her thin lips which augured ill. But in spite of his misgivings, Underwood knew he must endeavour to keep an open mind until he knew all the parties better.

CHAPTER NINE

‘Iniuriarum Remedium Est Oblivio’ – The best remedy for injuries is to forget them

              If Underwood expected to be thanked by Violette for bringing the tooth-puller, he was sadly disappointed. She cowered in horror from the apothecary and it took all Verity’s calming tricks, normally used upon her young daughters, to even gain him access to the room where the stricken girl lay.

              She folded her lips firmly as he approached the bed.

              Will Jebson was not disconcerted in the least. He had been dealing with reluctant patients for years – it was rare indeed to find someone who was not afraid of the tooth-pulling instruments.

              “Come, now, Miss, open wide and let me get that tooth out. You know you will feel better when it is gone.”

              “No, you’ll hurt me,” she forced the words from between clenched teeth, even though the action was obviously very painful.

              “I promise you that I will not. And it will hurt a great deal more to hang on to that poisoned tooth.”

              “I don’t trust you,” she responded, glaring at him.

              “Then I shall make a pact with you. If I hurt you, I will give you this golden guinea.” He took the shiny coin from his waistcoat pocket and held it out to her.

              “Very well, but I will hold it until you are done – so that you cannot cheat me,” she said in the same muffled tones, and she grabbed the coin before he could take it away again, her eyes glinting with greed. She had not seen such riches for many a day.

              Verity was shocked at her young charge’s impertinence, “Violette!  Mr Jebson has come all the way from Wimpleford to ease your pain and this is how you repay him!”

              Will smiled and held up a calming hand, “Don’t worry, Mrs Underwood, I have been using that coin as a bribe for twenty years and I’ve never lost it yet. Come Violette, open your mouth. I am going to count to three before I pull the tooth, so that you can prepare yourself. Are you ready?”

              She nodded and clutching the guinea in the hot little hand, she opened her mouth and Will prepared to pull. He began to count, “One, two ...” Violette gave a little gasp of shock and Will held the pulled and bloody tooth triumphantly aloft.

              “Oh, well done!” exclaimed Verity, very impressed by his speed and dexterity.

              Will handed Violette a bowl into which she could spit the blood, which she did, and then she grimaced at him, her anger plain to see.

              “You didn’t say three,” she protested hotly.

              “I didn’t hurt you either, did I?” he asked, laughing at her outrage.

              If the truth was told, he was more than a little shocked at the ease with which the tooth had left its socket. The rest of her teeth looked good and strong and, despite his expertise, he had expected more of a tussle. He looked at the broken, blackened stump and looked enquiringly at her, “The cause of all this trouble has been the fact that this tooth was broken off and loosened at some time. How did you manage to do that?”

              “I was hit in the face,” she answered bitterly, in between expectorating gore and pus into the bowl.

              “By some accident? Perhaps, you walked into something?” he asked tentatively, almost afraid to hear her reply.

              “On purpose, with a fist,” she said succinctly.

              He wondered what sort of a life she had been living, distressed to imagine someone so young and pretty being subjected to such brutality.

              “Oh.” There did not seem to be anything else to add to that, so he became at once business-like, “Wash out your mouth frequently with salted water – preferably warm from the kettle and try not to swallow too much of the stuff that comes out – it will probably make you feel rather unwell. I’ll give you some more laudanum for the pain.”

              “You were right, it does feel better already,” she said, surprised. She had been suffering for so many weeks that the dull ache that had replaced the agonizing pain which had been affecting the entire side of her face and head was almost negligible.

              “I think I earned my guinea back,” he said.

              She looked down at it shining in her palm before reluctantly handing it to him. There was a moment of silence then she gazed up at him and smiled, “Thank you,” she said softly.

              “I’d like to tell you that it was a pleasure, but that would be a rather odd thing to say,” he answered with a laugh, “But now I think I’ve earned a cup of tea.”

              Verity, who had fallen into an embarrassed and sympathetic silence when the French girl had mentioned being struck, now immediately recalled her duties as hostess.

              “Yes, of course, you must have tea before going home – and something to eat too. Violette, I shall bring you warm brine for rinsing your mouth - and perhaps some bread and milk?”

              The young woman wrinkled her nose at the thought of milk sops, but she realized she probably couldn’t manage to eat anything else just yet, so she nodded her thanks and watched the other two thoughtfully as they left the room. She liked Will Jebson, she decided, but it didn’t matter, because she would probably never see him again.

              Downstairs Verity and Will found Underwood, Lindell and Rutherford Petch deep in conversation, mostly about Australia, but also touching on the subject of running a large country estate. Lindell had some very useful insights for Rutherford on the wants, needs and complaints of tenant farmers and farm hands. It was the sort of information which would never be voiced to the landlord, but the vicar was a recipient of all sorts of stuff never heard by anyone else. Rutherford was looking thoughtful. Though he was determined to return to the Antipodes even if no-one but Underwood was privy to the secret, still he wanted to leave his estate in his sister’s hands and he was resolved to making sure it was running as smoothly as possible before he deserted her.

              Will, however, had other concerns. Something about Violette had called out to him. It was not that she was young and pretty – he was a married man with children and had long ceased to look at other women as anything other than patients, for that was the kind of man he was, but she was in distress and want and he could not ignore that.

              “Tell me, Mr Draycott, what is to become of the young lady now that her toothache is cured?” he asked, as he accepted a china cup from Verity.

              “Heaven knows what we are to do with her,” answered the vicar frankly, “Of course she can stay here until she is fully recovered, but once the Underwoods leave, I cannot keep her here, even if I had a vacancy for a servant – with her youth and good looks, the scandal would kill the Bishop!”

              Underwood caught an expression on his wife’s face which made his heart sink. It looked very much as though he was about to gain yet another waif to add to his ever growing household. He could see a future where Windward House would have more servants and added cottages in the grounds than the largest country estate belonging to the richest of the aristocracy.

              “Do you not have some position for her at Pershore House?” he asked swiftly, sending pleading glances towards Rutherford, which he, unfortunately – or perhaps deliberately - seemed not to notice.

              “What does she do?” asked the young landowner, with great practicality. Burdening his sibling with even more servants whom she neither wanted nor needed was not a part of his future plans, no matter how beholden he was to the Underwoods and Will Jebson.

              Underwood saw his hopes fading, “She’s an actress,” he admitted, “Though she may have other, as yet unknown, talents.”

              “Not much call for an actress in the kitchens at Pershore,” said Rutherford decidedly.

              “She may have her own plans,” said Lindell comfortingly, “We have not asked her.”

              “If she has not, then she must come home with us,” said Verity firmly, “Must she not, Underwood?”

              Her husband sighed heavily, “Of course, my dear, where else should she go? But you do know we have no need of another servant either?”

              “Not a servant, perhaps, but Horry is coming to an age where she should perhaps have a governess – and learning French would be no bad accomplishment for a young lady.”

              This was an invented task if ever he had heard one, for Underwood very well knew that before their marriage, Verity herself had been a governess and she was more than capable of undertaking every aspect of their two daughters’ education.

              Will Jebson could not, of course, guess at any of these thoughts and was merely grateful that the young lady would not be cast back out into a cold and cruel world without succour.  His soft heart had been touched by her plight.

              “That is a relief, I must say, for I cannot see how else she could manage. Even all these years after Waterloo and Napoleon’s death, the French are still not particularly popular and I cannot see her having an easy time finding work or shelter.”

              “Don’t fret, Will, we will see she is taken care of,” said Rutherford, causing Underwood to throw him a darkling glance for it was not
him
of course who would see that the wretched girl was housed and fed. As usual that would fall to the long-suffering Underwood.

              “With that settled, I think it is time we made our way back to Wimpleford, Captain Petch,” said Will, greatly comforted. He could see only one alternative career for the young girl if she was not under the protection of one of the party and he was appalled by the very thought.

              The two gentlemen left, after exchanging farewells and reminders of future meetings and Underwood gratefully sank into a comfortable doze on the sofa in front of the parlour fire, having been up early and driven several miles in the chilly rain.

              Verity went to help the cook prepare dinner and Lindell had another service to hold in the church before he could consider his duty done.

              Violette, who had sneaked downstairs and listened outside the parlour door to hear what the gathering had to say about her future, had returned to bed, much consoled by the final conclusion, knowing herself to be safe – at least for the present. But more than that, she was warmed and heartened by the consideration apparent in the nice Mr Jebson’s voice when he had demanded to be reassured about her welfare. In her eyes, her salvation was due entirely to the apothecary, who had fought so valiantly on her behalf making sure the others would do all they could to help her.

              She lay in the half-light of the curtained room, thinking about his kind brown eyes, his straight nose; the full, yet manly, lips which hinted at a passionate nature. In a laudanum-induced sleepiness, she closed her eyes and dreamed of the way his hair curled slightly over his forehead, and how smooth his shaved cheeks looked.  She recalled with a smile the sound of his deep voice, speaking her name and reassuring her when she was most frightened. It was a long time since anyone had been so gentle with her. Of late most men had treated her with contempt, cruelty or had viewed her as a possible conquest. Their only interest in her was the price she might command. For a long time now she had felt worthless, dirty, unloved. Will Jebson had made her feel human again, a woman to be listened to, to be protected, to be eased of pain. She was swept away by the forgotten emotions that his courtesy and care had engendered.

              Sadly the only thing she did not consider in all this girlish happiness was the notion that he might be beyond her reach.

              For his part, Will allowed himself to think once about his patient. He wondered vaguely if she would be safe now, from whoever had inflicted the injury which had caused her to lose a tooth, and from the harshness of a life without friends or family. He told himself that he had troubles enough of his own without involving himself in the cares of a comparative stranger. She might be young, pretty, and oddly exotic with her charming accent and large brown eyes, which had silently pleaded with him not to hurt her, but that could hold no interest for him. He had performed his task and had been paid. Let that be an end to it.

              Please God, let that be an end to it.

              He irrationally feared that anything else would spell disaster for them both. 

CHAPTER TEN

(Extract from a journal discovered by C H Underwood, Winter 1829)

              As my personal servant X could not help but be aware that something was very wrong but my father was nothing if not clever. He hid his actions well and if there were times when his behaviour seemed suspect, or I was particularly distressed or he had failed to disguise my injuries, he could find sly ways to hint that the fault was mine, that the ‘frailty of mind’ was manifesting itself in self-injury or odd behaviour.

              X wasn’t fooled for long, but what could either of us do?

              Lotions and ointments might ease the welts and bruises, but nothing could cure the terror. It showed in my face when anyone near me unfastened a button on their clothing.

              X admitted later that at first there was puzzlement that something as benign as a button could cause me to break into a sweat, my breathing growing rapid and shallow, my eyes wide and blank with horror.

              Naturally I could not confide in those early years what I later told X – that it was part of the torture. He would enjoy my distraught reaction as he approached me in the candlelight, slowly, deliberately unbuttoning his garments.

              Menacing in its execution, the first button in his coat would come undone, then the second ... so acute were my senses that I could hear the click of his nails on the bone or silver of which it was made, then the almost imperceptible swish as it slipped through the cloth.

              Once his coat was off, the next set of buttons were on his waistcoat. Seven buttons on his everyday waistcoat, but oh, the agony of anticipation of the twenty-four pearl or paste fancies on his embroidered evening wear, should he have attended a party, rout or some other evening affair – for then he would be drunk and that would add an extra dimension of cruelty to his entertainment.

              The whisper of satin as he moved delicately towards me, savouring the delicious aroma of my abject terror, his eyes glinting with pleasure.

              After the waistcoat fell to the floor, then I would know which it was to be.

              In his shirtsleeves he had the flexibility of movement to inflict pain by way of a leather strap or a riding crop.

              But if his hands strayed lower and went to the four buttons on the front flap of his breeches, then the agony was to be of an entirely different kind ...

*

              At first I would let no one in. The only protection I had was to encase myself in a shell that none could penetrate. Indifference was my armour – besides, one did not fraternize with the servants – and until X none had shown any partiality for me. I was merely another task to be performed and anything else that went on in the house was not their concern. My father paid well for their silence. I do not know why he made the error of letting X into the household, but I suspect he guessed he would have another victim to add a frisson to his games. He thought our youth gave him absolute control.

He was wrong.

              X tried to be kind, knowing vaguely, instinctively, something of what I was going through, even though my strange reactions to buttons, the breathlessness, the cold sweats, simply fed the lie of my mental instability, should anyone notice or question it.

              I rejected all offers of friendship at first – I could trust no-one – how could I do so, when the man who I ought to be able to trust above all others used me in such abominable ways?

              I was won around in the end, by silent sympathy, small kindnesses, little gifts, tiny gestures of support.

              Then the day dawned that marked the change in our relationship – no longer were we servant and charge – then I realized that not only were we living for and through each other, we would also be prepared to die for the other.